A Cold Season (2 page)

Sally frowned. ‘Can’t say I do. I never heard of anything like that around here. It must have been the fog. It makes everything look different sometimes.’

‘But it really looked like a dip – only, we rolled—’

‘It’s just the fog,’ said Sally. ‘I’d know if there was something like that. I know this road pretty well.’

It was Cass’ turn to fall silent.

‘Here we are,’ said Sally. ‘Welcome to Darnshaw.’

The first houses came into view, a row of terraces built of stone, blackened by passing traffic or smoke. Cass rounded the corner and found herself on a lane that followed the line of the valley. There were turn-offs to each side, where more houses nestled. She saw a general store, a small post office, a butcher, a greengrocer and a florist. To each side, steep hills rose to an opaque grey sky.

‘You’ve gone past,’ said Sally. ‘That was your lane. Still, if you don’t mind carrying on a bit, you could drop me at home.’

Cass nodded. She tried to glance down side roads as Sally pointed out a small park and the school. She told them where various walks began, mostly following the river. Then she indicated the road where she lived: Willowbank Crescent. It was ordinary-looking, the houses built from brick rather than the local stone. Sally gestured towards a small semi and Cass realised the woman was shivering.

‘I suppose you won’t want to come in,’ Sally said, reaching for the door handle. ‘You’ll want to settle in and all that? Well, thanks again.’ She smiled, got out and pushed the door shut behind her.

Cass turned round in a driveway and headed back down the road. As she passed the house, she saw that Sally was still watching. Cass waved and turned onto the main road, only then realising she hadn’t given Ben a chance to jump back into the front seat.

‘We’ll be there soon,’ she said over her shoulder.

There was no answer. Cass slowed and turned, saw her son frowning.

‘I don’t like it,’ he said. ‘The lady smelled.’

‘Ben, that’s rude.’

‘She smelled bad and I hate it here.’

‘You need to give it a chance. I loved it when I was your age.’ Even as she said the words, Cass found herself wondering if that was true. And yet when she had heard the name Darnshaw again, she had pictured Ben here, running about the hills and laughing. Enjoying an idyllic childhood, everything she wanted to give him.

‘She smelled like a butcher’s shop.’

‘Oh, Ben.’ She didn’t know what to say. And there
had
been a smell, hadn’t there? A musky smell, a little like wet wool. Something else, underneath the earthy moorland – a richer tang, more animal.

Like a butcher’s shop
.

Cass grinned at her over-active imagination. ‘Let’s go and see the new place, shall we?’

The mill glowed amid wintry skeletal woodland. From the top of the lane Cass could see a grey slate roof amid the reaching fingers of mature oaks. It would be beautiful in summer. Even now, early in the new year, the stone, sandblasted clean, was mellow and warm-looking. The photographs hadn’t done it justice. She grinned. ‘What do you think?’

Ben shrugged.

The lane led steeply down to a wide gravelled area that crunched under the car’s tyres. It stretched away to either side of the mill, but their eyes were drawn to the front. A central doorway was painted in deep crimson, an etched glass panel proclaiming ‘Foxdene Mill’.

Ben stirred at last. ‘Will there be other kids?’ He slipped his seatbelt off and leaned over to get a better look. The building was four storeys high.

‘Of course there will,’ said Cass. According to the brochure, the mill had been converted into twenty-one apartments: six on each of the lower floors, with views towards either the valley or the millpond, and three penthouses on the top. ‘There are bound to be lots of kids. You’ll have a great time.’

Their apartment was at the back of the building on the left side, so they would have views over both the millpond and the river. Cass had snapped it up as soon as she saw the brochure, though she had opted to rent, not buy. She needed to build a home for Ben quickly, get him settled into something new. Renting meant everything would be provided – beds, wardrobes, tables and chairs. She needed all of those things. They had been hers
only while she stayed in Army accommodation, and she couldn’t do that for ever, not without Pete.

When the brochure landed at her door and she saw that the mill lay in Darnshaw, it had felt like fate. She hadn’t even waited for a viewing.

Cass parked by the door. As soon as she stepped out she heard the river, rushing and burbling down the valley. The air smelled green and fresh: woodland after rain. She stared up at the building, spotted the clock tower she had seen in the pictures. The clock had a white face, as she remembered, but no hands. Time was standing still in the valley – that was appropriate. She remembered herself as a little girl, leaning over the garden gate and listening to the river rushing by.

Ben got out and stood by her side. She ruffled his hair and he squirmed, but she didn’t care. ‘Do you smell that?’ she asked.

He wrinkled his nose.

‘Come on. Let’s have a look at the place before we unload.’

‘Where is everybody?’

Cass tapped the entry code into the panel by the door. It beeped and she grabbed the brass handle. ‘I could get used to this,’ she said. The door was double-width and panelled. Probably not original, but it looked grand enough.

The hall was wide and a little cold. To their left a stairway led up, carpeted in red. Mailboxes, each bearing a brass number, were set into the right-hand wall and ahead was a door which must lead towards the ground-floor
apartments. The lobby was flagged, the rough-surfaced stones showing the wear of many years.

Cass felt like she already knew the way: up the stairs, through the fire-doors and into the hall. Ben hung back as they went, stomping his feet behind her.

The upstairs hall was as grand as the entrance had been, red-carpeted, wide and lined with white-painted doors. Cass went down without looking to left or right until she stopped in front of one of them. It looked like all the others they had passed but somehow she knew it was theirs. Sure enough, the brass number set into it was a 12.

A delightful apartment with stunning views to the millpond and down the valley, the picture of peace and solitude …

Cass pulled the key from her pocket. It had a cardboard tag with the number 12 scrawled on it in biro, along with a dirty fingerprint, a builder’s fingerprint. The mill had been freshly converted. Everything would be new; they were to be the first occupants. Cass felt a shiver of excitement as she pushed open the door. When she turned to smile at Ben, though, there was no expression on his face at all. Cass beckoned him inside.

The apartment’s hall was also lined with white doors, all of them closed except the one directly ahead. Cass went through and found herself in a wide lounge with windows set into two of its walls. She went to the nearest, realising as she approached how large it was. She would be able to sit on the sill quite comfortably, reading a book maybe, or simply taking in the view. She looked out.

The millpond was a line of acid-green between the trees.
Between the mill and the water were piles of gravel and sand, with a yellow digger standing desolate among them.

‘Where is everybody?’ said Ben, and Cass realised it wasn’t the first time he’d asked.

‘It’s a Saturday,’ she said. ‘They won’t be working on a Saturday. They must still be fitting out some of the apartments.’

‘So where are all the people?’

Cass frowned and went to the other window. This one looked over a wide gravel parking area with an outhouse at one end. What looked like bags of cement were piled against its wall and beyond it, a stile led into a field and a path wound towards the river. Behind everything, the hills rose steeply away.

‘Look,’ said Cass, ‘we can walk along the riverbank. Won’t that be nice?’

‘But where are all the kids?’ Ben scowled, his eyes narrowed. There was a gleam in them Cass didn’t like. She turned back to the window and noticed an odd thing. The parking area was completely empty.

‘I want Dad,’ Ben said.

‘Ben,
please
.’

‘I want him back – how’s he going to find us now? He won’t know where to look.’ His face crumpled.

Cass bent and put her arms around her son. Ben’s whole body was hot to the touch and she felt his forehead. He didn’t push her hand away. ‘I want him,’ he repeated.

‘I know. I’m sorry, Ben. But you have to understand, he’s not coming back.’

Ben struggled in her arms and she drew him in closer.
Holding him. ‘I want him too,’ she whispered. ‘Ben, I want him too. I do. But we’ll be okay.’ She drew back. ‘It’s you and me now,’ she said, ‘and everything will be all right.’

TWO

Cass opened her eyes. Everything was in shades of grey, and that wasn’t right. There was no sound, and that was wrong too; she’d heard something. It had woken her.

For a second everything turned sepia, the colour of the desert. She rubbed her eyes. It had been Pete; she’d been dreaming of him.

She heard a sound.
Scritch, scritch
.

Pete had been holding her close. He held her while the building shook and crumbling plaster rained down on her head, settling in her hair like snowflakes.

Scritch, scritch
.

Cass turned, put out a hand and touched the wall at her back. It was rough under her fingertips. The scratching stopped. She heard a different sound, like the pattering of little feet running away. She grimaced.

Cass turned back to face the empty room, and that was when she saw Pete standing in front of her.

She blinked, but he was still there, his blond hair palegrey in the dark. He held out his arms and his lips moved.
She couldn’t hear what he was saying. As she watched he opened his fists to reveal handfuls of blue stones. They were bright, the only colour in the room. The stones fell, one by one, to the ground, and the ground swallowed them. Everything was soundless, everything colourless, except the things he held.

Cass heard a noise and she jumped from her bed. When she turned back to face Pete, he had gone. She found herself looking for the blue stones on the carpet, but of course there was nothing.

She swallowed and took a deep breath. She had to keep it together. Of course she had just been dreaming of her husband. This thing she thought she’d seen – it was an after-image, nothing more, a clinging remnant of sleep.

There came a new sound. A dry scrape, as of heavy boots treading through sand.

She shook her head. The sound went on, but it resolved itself into something she could understand and Cass began to breathe once more.
Scritch, scritch
.

There were mice behind the walls.
Scritch, scritch
. It didn’t sound like sand any more; it was more like the scratching of tiny claws. Of course an old building like this was bound to have mice. She should have thought of it. She’d have to get traps or poison. Cass had a sudden image of Ben coming across a trap, holding up a grey-furred body by its tail, and pulled a face.

Cass squinted and let her eyes adjust to the dark: ahead and to the right, where there was a darker patch, that’s where the door was. She went towards it, felt her way into the hall without switching on the light. Ben’s door
was outlined by the pale glow that crept beneath it. She felt for the handle and went in.

Ben’s nightlight glowed, a small plastic blue moon. It was one of the first things she’d unpacked. Her son didn’t like to sleep without a light, not since Pete had left them for the last time.

He had the covers heaped up over his body, a snug bundle. Cass leaned over and looked into his face – then started back. His eyes were wide open, staring up at her. She took a deep breath, then waved her hands in front of his eyes, but he didn’t move. His cheeks looked wan and sickly in the nightlight’s steady glow.

He was sleeping with his eyes open.

Cass eased the covers away from his face, loosening them, careful not to wake him. Part of her wanted to see the expression restored to his eyes, but it must be better not to interfere. Better to let him sleep. She tucked the bundle of covers in around him. She felt the need to do these things but then remained standing there, looking at his face. She knew there was something else she needed to do for him, but couldn’t think what it was.

Then she knew, and put out a hand before she could catch herself.

She pulled away at the last moment. The thing she’d wanted to do was reach out and put her hand to his eyes, smooth his eyelids down, like closing them on a corpse. Cass shuddered.

Quietly, she backed out of the room.

THREE

Ben stood in the lounge, looking out of the window. Cass stretched as she went to join him, still trying to shake off sleep, and put a hand on his shoulder.

‘We’re still here,’ her son said in a small voice.

She bent and hugged him, feeling frail bones through his pyjamas. ‘Why don’t we set the telly up?’ she said. ‘And your video games.’